


just wanna taste it (make it hot)

by kamsangi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Marking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamsangi/pseuds/kamsangi
Summary: Then, Seungmin had said, “Hey, you think Chris is gonna show up in that slutty schoolgirl outfit after all?” and Minho had almost spit his entire fucking drink out.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 34
Kudos: 404





	just wanna taste it (make it hot)

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse for this
> 
> happy minchantober

“He wouldn’t,” Minho insists. “He doesn’t have the fucking guts.”

“You’d think. I’m telling you, he’s gonna.”

“He’s _not.”_

Seungmin raises his glass, motioning towards the door. “Speak of the devil. Look who’s here.”

Minho’s head whips around so quickly he almost breaks his neck.

He genuinely hadn’t planned on showing up to this party. Honest to God. He figured it’d just be another cliche Halloween party that he could’ve easily skipped. He’s been to far too many already just this month alone. He could be back in his room watching Netflix right now. But, no, he just had to get dragged out by his roommates Hyunjin and Felix, all in the name of socialising.

And booze, they’d said. Free booze.

(He’s mostly always up for the alcohol.)

They’d disappeared somewhere into the crowd the moment they’d gotten here. Minho’s been (begrudgingly) making nice with his archnemesis Kim Seungmin from his Production and Stage Management class (who’s unsurprisingly turned out to be the only other tolerable person here), sipping at his drink while waiting to see if anyone else interesting will eventually show up.

He hadn’t bothered to dress up too much either. A pair of old black cat ears and a leather jacket. That’d been enough for him. Of course, Seungmin in his shitty attempt at dressing up as a puppy with equally cheap dog ears had no ground to stand there and insult his costume, so they’d moved onto discussing what everyone else was wearing instead.

Boring angel wings everywhere. Too many vampires. One or two Marvel characters, and the occasional Batman. Points to the one girl who’d dressed up as a pizza slice, though.

Then, Seungmin had said, “Hey, you think Chris is gonna show up in that slutty schoolgirl outfit after all?” and Minho had almost spit his entire fucking drink out.

He’d thought there was no way, _no way in hell_ that goody-two-shoes, student union vice president, captain of the swim team, music production major Chris Bang would follow through on the bet he’d lost after the Chan’s Room Campus Livestream Incident of September ‘20. No way in hell, not in any alternate universe.

Chris walks through the door, and he’s wearing a skirt.

No. He’s not just wearing _any_ skirt. He’s wearing the tiniest skirt Minho has ever seen, so short that it barely goes past mid-thigh. If he tried to bend down even the slightest bit, he’d probably flash half the room. His thigh-high stockings are blindingly sheer, and stand absolutely no chance of surviving the night.

The white shirt that’s supposed to be the uniform top is so short it ends halfway up his body like a crop top, showing off more skin than he’s ever shown outside of a swim meet. The absolute worst part is how fucking _obscene_ it all is, because Chris is horribly, horrendously, insanely fit, built the way athletes are. Thick arms, toned legs, abs so tight you could crack your jaw open on them.

He’s the last person you’d expect to show up in an outfit like this.

“Oh my god,” Minho says. This is hell. This is actually hell. This is his own personal, unrelenting, inescapable hell. He’s been sent to the everlasting flames to burn forever with the image of Chris Bang in the sluttiest Halloween costume he could’ve ever imagined permanently seared into his retinas.

Chris looks nothing like the kind of girl who’d usually wear something like this out to a party, and it’s that dissonant clash of hot dude in stereotypically feminine clothing that destroys the last of Minho’s self-control almost immediately.

The entire room grinds to a screeching, focused halt.

Someone wolf-whistles so loudly it cuts through the music blasting from the speakers.

Minho's eye twitches. Beside him, Seungmin lets out a soft bark of a laugh.

"I used Tzuyu’s measurements when I ordered it off Amazon," Chris says in the tiniest, most embarrassed voice ever, and Minho can’t look away to save his fucking life. "I thought we'd be the same size! We’re the same height!"

"Dude," comes Changbin's frenzied laugh, "she’s not as fucking _jacked_ as you are, what the hell did you expect?"

"Dude," Jisung says supportively, "your ass looks so great in that skirt."

"Thanks?" Chris says, voice high-pitched and confused.

"Maybe you could've gotten a wig," Jisung adds, motioning towards Chris' hair, "but the short hair works for you. I’d hit on you if I didn’t know any better. Really! It's a compliment! I swear!" he says hurriedly when Chris makes to pinch him on the arm in response. "Who did your make-up?"

"Jeongyeon and Sana," Chris sighs, absently biting at his glossy, red mouth. Minho stares shamelessly, hands curling into his palms. "And Jihyo made me bring the tube of lip-gloss along with me because she knew I'd chew it all off and have to reapply it."

"Can't believe how lucky you are," Changbin complains, slinging an arm around Jisung's shoulders, "you literally have had the entire cheerleading squad in your room. I can't even get within five feet of them without getting scared."

"We grew up together, they're like my sisters," Chris protests. "What, you want me to ask Sana to do your make-up too?"

"Would that count as a date?"

"Oh my god," Chris says. "You're terrible. Look, I need a drink like, right now, or I'm gonna lose it."

Minho's moving forward before he can even stop himself. "Hey," he says, and all three of them look at him in surprise. "Beer or rum?"

Chris blinks at him, his wide eyes lined darkly against his pale skin. "There's no hard liquor in this house."

"There is," Minho says, "you just don't know where it is. But I do."

Beside Chris, Jisung and Changbin are having some sort of silent conversation that involves a lot of eyebrow wriggling and pointing surreptitiously in Chris' direction. Chris hasn't noticed. Minho hopes it stays that way. "Oh," Chris says brightly, "rum sounds good then."

Minho nods, heart pounding in his chest.

They pass Seungmin on the way to the drinks table, and Minho pretends he doesn’t see Seungmin mouth ‘told you so’ as he raises his glass surreptitiously.

“Not here,” Minho says when Chris goes to grab a cup from the table with the punch and the unmixed drinks, “further back in the kitchen.”

Chris cautiously follows Minho into the kitchen, and leans against the island while Minho bends down to inspect a row of cupboards, tugging the door of each open until he finds a small oven. _There we go,_ Minho thinks, yanking the door open to tug out the bottle of rum he’d gotten someone to stow here weeks ago. He’s surprised there’s still more than half of it left, actually.

He straightens up and turns back around to the sight of Chris looking very impressed. “Not to sound like I’m coming onto you,” Chris says, “but do you come here often?”

Minho sets the bottle onto the counter with a soft thud. “Why can’t it be a come-on?” he says, grinning sharply, and Chris’ face colours in, eyes blinking quickly. “Kidding, kidding. There was a party here two months ago. Convinced someone to keep the rest of this for next time.”

“Mr. Popular, huh,” Chris comments, eyebrow raised.

“Me?” Minho huffs a laugh. “Look in the mirror sometime.” He pours out half a glass and slides it across the counter. “I’m surprised you even took me up on the drink.” He pours himself a glass, and holds it up as he leans against the counter. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Their glasses clink together, not very loudly considering how high the volume on the speakers in the living room is turned to. “As for why,” Chris says, taking a sip, “I thought it’d be a good chance to get to talk to you. We don’t have a lot of classes together.”

He’s right. They share one language class, but besides that, they’ve only ever spotted each other across campus, occasionally at showcases when Minho’s dance crew is slated to have a performance on the same day as Chris’ DJ sets. They’ve never really gotten to talk. Not like this.

Thing is, Minho’s not too interested in just talking.

“It’s your lucky night, then,” Minho says, shooting him a grin. Maybe by the end of the night he’ll get to find out if Chris is only interested in talking too, if he’s fortunate enough.

Chris grins back. “Guess so.” He stretches a little, and Minho’s eyes fall onto the defined curve of his bicep. “You’re roommates with Felix, aren’t you? He mentioned you might be coming tonight.”

“Yeah. Him and Hyunjin—our other roommate—they were the ones who dragged me out, actually. Was just gonna Netflix and chill.”

“Chill, or… chill?”

“What do you think?” Minho murmurs. It’s a bit on the nose, but he doesn’t mind testing the waters a little deeper.

Chris’ expression is hard to parse. Maybe it’s just the dark corner they’re in, or maybe it’s the three drinks he’s already had. “Well,” he says, “you seem—”

Before he can finish his sentence, someone bumps into Chris, who stumbles right into Minho. His entire drink goes with him too, slipping out the rim of his glass and right onto Minho’s shirt. “Oh, shit,” Chris says, looking horrified, “I’m so sorry, oh gosh—”

But—Minho barely notices, because his hand's just landed on the bare stretch of skin between the hem of Chris' skirt and the line of his stockings. There's an extra strip of fabric that Minho hadn't noticed before in the dim light. 

It’s a black lace garter, running up the toned outside line of his thigh.

Arousal hits him like a lightning bolt. He can’t move his hand away to save his life. Abruptly, Minho wants nothing more than to see what it’s attached to.

Chris' eyes flicker up to meet his. His cheeks are flushed, but there's something in his eyes that makes Minho think that he's just been playing at being coy this entire time. "Sorry about your shirt," he says, voice low and purposeful, "maybe we should go get that cleaned off."

The crowd continues to move around them, not paying them any attention.

"Yeah," Minho murmurs. His other hand is still wrapped around Chris' forearm. Carefully, he digs the pad of his thumb into Chris' wrist and watches his pupils dilate almost instantly. "Think you need to reapply your lip-gloss too."

Chris curls his teeth over his wet, red mouth, tipping his chin up in an unasked question. Minho knows that Chris knows full well what he looks like, what he’s doing—knows exactly what Minho would say if he actually said the words.

His resistance goes straight out the window.

He steps past Chris, still holding onto him with one hand, and leads him through the crowd and into an unoccupied bathroom upstairs, in one of the back rooms that’s further away from where the rest of the party is.

The moment the door shuts behind them, he's shoving Chris back against it with a thud, hands on Chris' hips as he kisses him. Chris' incisors sink into Minho's bottom lip, right before he tongues over the hurt. His mouth is hot and wet and more than eager, and he keeps making all these delicious noises that Minho just wants to eat up. 

It’s the push-and-pull he’d expected. Chris isn’t taking any of it lying down—he kisses back like he’s the one who’d come onto Minho first, taking and _taking_ and only giving when Minho tugs at his hair and tilts his head further down, making him open up wider for Minho to lick into his mouth hungrily, needily, wanting more and more. It’s the strawberry sweetness of his lip gloss, the taste of rum on his tongue, keeping Minho chasing his mouth over and over, like a shot he can’t stop tossing back.

Chris’ hands are big and warm, sliding up the back of his shirt, feeling their way along his shoulder-blades, the knobs in his spine, dipping back down to palm at Minho’s ass through his jeans. “Can I?” Chris asks hoarsely, more forward than any guy Minho’s ever picked up at parties like these, and at Minho’s nod, he starts unbuckling Minho’s belt with practiced, firm hands.

Minho dips back in for another kiss, tugging Chris close again once Chris has gotten Minho’s belt off. He’s in no rush to take anything off Chris. He still wants to admire the view a little more—and maybe let Chris’ mouth do a little more work.

Chris knows what he’s doing, Minho can tell. For all the stories of Chris being ever too busy to date, prioritising his academic life and his career over relationships, he’s a shockingly good kisser. He’s not rough but he’s firm, leading the kiss the entire time even though Minho’s still got a grip on his hair, seeking out the best way to make Minho shiver with every lick, every nip.

By the time they separate again, Chris' dark, kohl-rimmed eyes are half-lidded and dangerous. "You've got a little something over here," he murmurs, tilting his head to kiss the side of Minho's jaw, "and here," and he moves down to Minho's neck, sucking a kiss into his skin, teeth marking him up for everyone to see. "And here."

“I should’ve known you’d be the possessive kind,” Minho says, a laugh in the back of his throat.

Chris pulls back to kiss him on the mouth again, one hand cupping Minho’s face. “Only with people I like.”

Minho takes a slow, steady breath, gaze unwavering as he meets Chris’ eyes. “Nice to know I’ve made the list.”

Chris smiles, embarrassed. “You sort of are the list.”

God, he’s cute. _He’s so cute._ Minho can’t stand it.

“You can touch me, y’know,” Chris adds, biting his lip absently. There’s the hint of a flush rising on his pale cheeks. “I want you to.”

“Yeah,” Minho says, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed at the thought of getting to put his hands all over Chris, “yeah, alright.”

Finally, he lets his hands skim down Chris’ exposed waist, down to the tiny strip of skirt that just barely covers his ass, and squeezes. His head swims at the noise that Chris makes, low and breathy and deep in his chest, and at the way Chris unconsciously pushes up on his toes to arch into Minho’s touch.

Minho slides his hands around Chris’ thighs, gets his thumbs into the garters, and tugs at them loosely. "Wanna see where these go," he says, heated, and Chris' eyes flit downwards, before he's uncouthly tugging up the hem of the pleated skirt to show off two garters going up from the hems of his stockings to a matching set of black panties. His thick, hard cock is straining under the flimsy lace, looking absolutely fucking obscene under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, the shadow of his skirt that’s barely obscuring anything above mid-thigh.

Minho’s sharp intake of breath echoes off the bathroom tiles. 

"They thought it'd be funny," Chris' voice is breathy and embarrassed. "But—"

"You like it more than you thought you would." Minho makes Chris drop the skirt before he cups Chris' cock through the fabric, fingers firm as he feels him up through the layers. He’s just as hard as he looks. A rush of satisfaction floods his body when Chris’ eyes flutter shut, and he bucks up into Minho’s grip, a soft moan hitching in the back of his throat. "Fuck. You're so pretty."

Chris exhales. "No one's ever called me that before," he admits, but it’s not a moment later that he’s already leaning in to nip at Minho’s mouth, insisting, "say it again."

"Demanding," Minho murmurs, and he kisses Chris, swallowing his moan before he whispers, "I like it." He cradles Chris' chin in his fingers and thumbs at his lower lip, all plush and swollen and stained. “You’re the prettiest thing at this party, y’know. You gonna let me fuck you, baby girl?"

Chris shivers, and nearly sways on the spot. "Oh," he says, mouth falling open, voice pitched low and surprised like he’s been sucker-punched in the gut. _Got you,_ Minho thinks, holding back a pleased smirk. "I—yeah. Fuck. _Please."_

"Yeah?" Minho sucks another kiss into Chris' willing, eager mouth, and runs his free hand up Chris' abs, until his fingers find a nipple, tugging lightly and pinching just hard enough that Chris will be sensitive enough to feel the drag of his own shirt against it when he finally lets go.

Chris lets out a little gasp, his fingers tightening in Minho's shirt. "Minho," he says, voice dangerously low. "Can I?"

"What?" Minho's distracted by the glazed look in Chris's eyes.

"I wanna blow you," Chris says, tongue absently darting out to lick his lips. “Can I?”

Minho's face must show just how much he’d like that, because Chris doesn’t say another word as he tugs Minho aside to line him up with his back against the sink. Minho shoves his pants down to his ankles, already breathing hard at the thought of Chris sucking him off with that incredible mouth of his.

But then, instead of getting right to it, Chris tugs out the little tube of lip-gloss from earlier. Agonisingly slow, he uncaps it, drags the brush across his lips until they’re sticky and red with gloss again, and then he shuffles closer to Minho, finally sinking down to his knees. Minho watches, heart threatening to beat out of his chest, as Chris smacks his lips once, and then twice. They're so wet with product that a thin line of gloss sticks between them. Chris licks it away and bites down on his lip again.

Gloss smears along the corner of his pretty, plush mouth.

Chris looks up at Minho through his painted lashes, leans in to press a slick kiss to the head of Minho's hard cock, leaving a sticky mark in the shape of his lips. It’s barely a tease of a touch, but Minho’s so sensitive and needy that he has to grasp the base of his dick just to stop himself from reacting too quickly. "Promise I’ll make it good for you."

"Fuck," Minho groans, because holy shit, does Chris knows how to play along, and Minho's a complete goner now that he’s actually _seen_ this side of him.

It’s the hottest blowjob Minho’s ever gotten. The slow drag of Chris’ tongue, his warm lips pursed around the head of his cock, the wet, slick tightness of his mouth when he goes down deep. Chris is a fucking pro, looking like he’s enjoying it more than Minho is, making all these sounds in the back of his throat like he’s the one getting off.

Minho curls his fingers tighter into Chris’ shoulder, sucks in a hard breath when Chris starts to jerk him off with a loose grip, mouth still laving at the head of his cock like it’s a popsicle. Chris’ mouth is swollen and wet with spit and gloss and pre-come, but he just keeps at it, making Minho feel like he’s going to explode at any time.

“You’re incredible,” Minho mutters, breath hitching when Chris hums around his cock, “fuck, m’gonna—”

Chris pulls off, inhaling sharply. “You can come on my face if you want,” he says, voice hoarse and fucked, and it’s over for Minho, shooting off like he’s been pent up for weeks. It’s toe-curling in a way that sends him right off to the stratosphere for a good few moments, until he finally comes back to earth, back to his own body.

Minho forces his eyes open, breathing hard. Chris is still kneeling on the floor, looking just as breathless as Minho feels. There’s come across his cheek, dripping off his mouth, down his jaw. He watches as Chris’ pink tongue slowly curls over his lip, licking off what’s there, before sucking it back into his mouth and swallowing.

(Far, far away, somewhere in the depths of Minho’s mind, something explodes and dissipates into dust to make room for a new memory he never wants to forget. This night is going in his spank bank forever.)

“Was it good?” Chris asks, sounding like he genuinely wants to know, not just fishing for a compliment.

“Yeah,” Minho breathes. He means it. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

Chris flushes, and lets Minho pull him back up for a kiss, clutching at him needily. Minho can taste himself on Chris’ tongue, and it makes him want to taste Chris properly too. “Minho, c’mon,” Chris whines, grinding his hard cock against Minho’s hip, sounding like he’s just about ready to come if Minho would just touch him.

God, does Minho wish he could fuck Chris. Or have Chris fuck him, either way.

But he's not gonna fuck him in some random bathroom. He deserves a bit better.

"Just a bit, huh?" Chris asks, breathless as he holds onto Minho, arms around his shoulders as Minho jerks him through his panties, the rough grip of his palm slow and intentional against the silky lace. “Shit. Please. I need more."

"Wrong," Minho says, biting at Chris' jaw. “Be more specific.”

Chris' eyes flutter shut. "I want your mouth on me," he says, far-away and dazed.

"After this," Minho pants into Chris' ear, "I'll eat you out so well you won't remember your name."

“Oh my god,” Chris says, looking like all the blood in his body has just rushed to his face, red with embarrassment and arousal at Minho’s words. “You can’t just—”

Minho kisses him, and fumbles to unhook the garters. “I can,” he says, tugging the underwear down to finally free Chris’ cock, “and I will.”

Chris inhales sharply. “You’ve got lip gloss on your mouth,” he says, eyes glued to Minho as he gets down onto his knees.

Minho runs his palms up the side of Chris’ legs, feeling at the line of his stockings, ghosting his fingertips across bare skin. “I know,” he says, before he leans right in to press a kiss to the side of Chris’ knee, then just above the hem of his stocking, and then further up along the inside of his thigh—and above him, Chris is already breathing so hard, fingers curling and unfurling along the wall he’s braced against.

He nips at Chris’ skin, sucks until he knows it’ll bruise, soothes over the hurt with his tongue and then presses one more kiss over it. He wishes they had more time, more space. He wants to lay Chris out and kiss him everywhere, leave the prettiest marks all over him, make sure everyone knows who he’s been with.

Instead, he gets Chris to lean back against the wall with one hand obediently holding his skirt up, one leg hooked over Minho's shoulder as Minho licks and sucks at the head of his cock, teasing, kittenish licks until Chris is shaking with need, asking for more.

Chris wriggles and kicks and moans and makes all the best sounds, fingers clawing into the back of Minho's shirt. "I love your clit," Minho murmurs, and Chris shudders so deeply that Minho feels it where he's holding Chris down by his hips. "I bet you'd take my cock so well, baby girl."

"Yeah," Chris whimpers, fingers painfully tight in Minho's hair, back arching up against the wall, _"please._ I want it."

Somewhere behind him, one of Chris’ sneakers falls off, bouncing off the floor and onto the little rug by the tub. His stockinged heel digs into Minho’s shoulder as Minho sucks him down all the way. He’s heavy and throbbing on Minho’s tongue, tasting of pre-come and leftover remnants of gloss from the kiss they’d shared earlier. Minho wants to keep him like this forever, trembling and needy and whining Minho’s name.

It’s not long until Chris is thumping his fist against Minho’s shoulder, letting him know that he’s close. Minho pulls off, jerks him through it, calls him pretty one last time just to see the look on his face when he flinches and comes all over the inside of his skirt, surprised by his own reaction.

Minho cracks his jaw and shakes his head, feeling exhausted just watching Chris come that hard. He reaches back again for Chris, who's starting to look a bit wobbly on his feet, but loses his balance when Chris decides he’s had enough of standing.

They both slump down to the floor in a messy pile, breathing hard. Chris' knee is still over Minho's shoulder. _He's so flexible, what the hell. And needy,_ he thinks, when Chris nudges at his face with his nose, asking for a kiss, and then another, all sweet after he's been fucked-out. Minho kisses back, sucking at his tongue, stealing a last breath as he runs a hand along Chris’ calf, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the inside of Chris’ knee when Chris unhooks his ankle from Minho’s shoulder with a little hiss.

There's red gloss smeared across the inside of Chris' pale thighs.

"Sorry about the skirt," Minho says, “and the underwear,” and Chris startles, finally realising what he's done. 

"Oh shit," Chris says somberly, picking at it. "Sana's going to hold this over me forever. You think I could get away with burning it?"

"She’ll probably find out by the end of the night anyway. People talk."

Chris sighs. Minho kisses him again, just because he can, and because he doesn’t want Chris thinking about anything other than him. Just for now. They kiss leisurely until Chris starts complaining that he aches, and then it’s a few quiet moments of cleaning up after themselves and attempting to rub the stains out of their clothes. Minho picks up his discarded cat ears from where they’re lying under the sink, and Chris, pink-faced and shy, clips his garters back on.

"Thanks," Chris says, a little awkwardly, once they’re looking slightly more presentable than before. "I really—I liked that. A lot."

Minho breathes out. "I’m sorta hoping you want to do that again. Sometime sooner than later."

Chris leans in and kisses him, warm and open-mouthed and slow. "Yeah," he says, voice low and wanting, and Minho's the one feeling weak-kneed now, "I do."

Right before they slip out, Minho grabs Chris around the waist, tugs him in and nips at his mouth. One last time for the road. "My place," Minho says, "I’ll call you.”

“You don’t have my number,” Chris murmurs against Minho’s lips. 

Minho steps back, grinning. “Don’t I?” 

They slip back out, parting at the bottom of the stairs. Minho scoops up a plastic cup of punch on his way back to the same corner he’d been skulking in, where Seungmin is surprisingly still hanging out. “You freak,” Minho says, coming up to him, “have you just been waiting here for me?”

“You think way too highly of yourself,” Seungmin says. “Nah. Hyunjin came by, we talked for a bit. Your timing’s shit, by the way, he just left.”

“It’s fine,” Minho says. “I made up for it.”

“I can see.” Seungmin gives him a once-over, eyebrow raised. “Did Chris even survive you?”

“See for yourself.” Minho nods towards the other end of the room, where Chris is wandering back in amongst the crowd, looking for Jisung and Changbin.

“Yo!” Jisung calls, “we were looking for you, it’s been like, twenty minutes, where’d you go—”

But then, someone's saying, "Hey Chris, did you always have that hickey on your neck, or?"

Minho laughs into his cup as more people turn to look at Chris. He can see the bruise from here, red and dark under his jaw. The shadow of Minho’s hunger, imprinted on Chris’ skin for days to come. And not just there, either.

"Dude," someone else says, "you have a hickey on your _thigh._ Is that lipstick? How'd that get... _there?"_

"Stop looking!" Chris whines, attempting to tug his skirt down, but the damage is already done.

"Holy shit," Changbin says gleefully, "Minho is an _animal."_

Everyone's heads whip around in Minho's direction. Minho raises his glass, smirking, absolutely aware that he looks just as well-fucked as Chris does. He has absolutely no shame. He just got to blow the most eligible bachelor on this campus. Of course he's gonna gloat.

The people around them are equal parts scandalised, thrilled and amused.

Chris shuts his eyes. "Don't say a word," he tells Jisung and Changbin, who are absolutely ecstatic at his embarrassment. 

Changbin says, "You really hooked up with him? You slut."

"I'm not a slut!" Chris protests. "You hooked up with someone at a party like, last month!"

"Yeah, but I'm not Bang Christopher Chan," Changbin says. "Mr. VP, nice guy, good boy, definitely not the kind to hit it and run."

"It's not a hit-and-run," Chris whispers, still looking mortified. "We're—uh, we're gonna meet up again."

Jisung holds his hand out for a high-five. Defeated, Chris gives him one. "He was that good, huh?"

Chris's cheeks are blazing red. "Yeah," he mumbles, "he was."

He meets Minho’s eyes across the room. For a long moment, he just stares at him, his face not giving anything away. Then, Chris smiles, secret and a little mischievous and entirely for him, the promise of more to come.

Minho grins.

**Author's Note:**

> i spend a lot of time on [twitter](http://twitter.com/SSEOMT) asking who will write the fic (plot twist: i am always the one who ends up writing the fic)
> 
> come bully me into writing more fic thanks
> 
> 11/10/2020 edit: chan wore a crop top on inkigayo for back door one day after i posted this. crop top chan. he wore a crop top. chan. crop top. chan in a crop top living in my mind rent free. he owns the house. i'm paying his overhead bills. crop top chan. he did it for me


End file.
